


Finding Home

by MiaGhost



Series: On Winchester Wing [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU- Reversed Roles, Angst, Balthazar is all-suffering, Becoming allies, Betrayal, Betraying the other angels, But hopefully more fluff, Castiel is a hunter, Castiel is shy, Danger, Dean does what he wants, Dean is a maverick, Dean is friendly, Dean is protective, Fluff, Fun!Dean, Gabriel is a tricky player, Guys they will swear, Helping, Humanity is fascinating, Hunter!Balthazar!, Hunter!Gabriel, Like snail's pace for a while, M/M, Older brother nonsense, Protective Older Brothers, Sam is better behaved than his brother of course, Slow Burn, Solemn!Serious!Castiel, Some is just plain swapped, Suspicion, Swearing, Teasing, angel!Sam, bad language, battles, dean is an angel, learning, lots of references to the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaGhost/pseuds/MiaGhost
Summary: It's their beginning. Castiel has searched since waking in an unmarked grave in an unmarked field in a town in the middle of nowhere. He's searched for home, that moving, travelling place. Finally all his options are used and he stands before the last door.





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel stared at the old farmhouse, seeing the blacked out windows and feeling his heart threaten to drop. He stood at the end of the driveway, weeds older than him curling around his shoes and wishing he could convince himself there was light behind the lower lefthand window, that it wasn't his imagination that the black square was slightly more grey than the others. His ears could catch no sounds.

He'd tried them all, all the ones he knew, all the ones that had been in play before he… Before he died, and several more besides. He'd even tried the ones he knew had been compromised. The ones still standing, at least. It had been nearly two months. This was his last, his desperate card, his empty hand. The car wasn't there but that didn't mean they weren't. They often stashed it somewhere, but Castiel was too afraid to wander off and check the usual spot. Too afraid he'd find nothing but more old weeds.

He took a breath, feeling the memory of Alistair's searing knife as it scraped his spine. He swallowed, knowing he was shaking but hoping that he could ignore it into disappearing. He was out. He _knew_ he was out. But his skin, his organs, his nerves… They still forgot sometimes. He swallowed more air, feeling desperate tears threaten. It took an inordinate amount of willpower to make his legs move.

The driveway, if it could even be called that anymore, was long, long, _long_. Castiel felt he'd never get there, that it was another trick, another form of torture from the ones who'd had him for so long. That he was forever trapped, doomed to be so close and yet so far. _Had he even escaped?_

But then his feet reached the steps to the porch and the fearful grip of illusion was gone. He was sure of where he was, a cool breeze crossing the sweat on his face in the fading day. The lowest step complained, old and rotting wood that didn't want his feet to be there. The sound was sweet and familiar, nostalgia to his ears. It had been a very long time since he'd stood here, on these steps.

His parents had been alive then.

He stepped up, and suddenly he was there, facing the door and feeling his heartbeat fast and devastating in his chest. His fingers reached, caught the old brass doorknob. But his hand wouldn't turn it.

_What if they weren't there?_

_What was he going to do if they weren't in there, behind the old, fading green paint?_

_What if he was truly on his own?_

A scared part of him wanted to turn away, wanted to leave and run somewhere far. Somewhere he wouldn't have to address that fear, somewhere he could kid himself that he wasn't alone. He didn't know how long he stood there, his fingers curled hard against the cold metal and his throat dry. It could have been minutes, it could have been a day. Fear had taken hold of Castiel and he was afraid that he wouldn't be strong enough to face what might not lie beyond the door.

When he did find the courage to push open the creaky old door, it was with his eyes shut tightly and his breath held like a flighty bird in its cage. For a moment he couldn't move, for a moment he couldn't even feel his heart beating.

And then all at once he surprised himself, letting out the breath and taking two steps across the threshold and forcing his eyes open to see…

A darkened and empty hall.

His heart finally fell, and it took Castiel with it. He landed on his knees, his head bowed and his hands gripping his sleeves as though to hold himself together.

_They're not here. They were never here._

_I'll never find them._

Castiel began to cry. His tears were silent, falling onto his jeans, onto the scuffed and warped old floorboards. Castiel cried, feeling like his heart was breaking, wishing there were something, anything he could do to make the tearing pain in his chest leave. Alastair had come back for him, he knew, that razor-edge slipping into his skin like a swimmer into water, barely rippling. Castiel cried knowing he was truly alone and that there was nowhere else he knew to look, that there was a whole country out there beyond the old weeds and that they could be anywhere in it.

He'd never find them.

"Now, now." came a cold, disgusted voice. "There's no need to cry over a little Devil's Trap. It's the least of your worries."

Castiel couldn't breathe, freezing in place as the words washed him over, as the familiar voice wound into his chest and seat about lifting his heart back into place.

"Now me, _that_ you should cry about."

Castiel lifted his face to see him, revealing the figure from toe to top. His clothes were dark and worn, his favourite was coat missing and his hands were gloved. His sleeves were rolled up, the twisty, elegant tattoo that hid his anti-possession charm stark against the pale skin. His face was older, or maybe it was Castiel's memory that was wrong. There was scruff on his chin and his cheeks were hollowing. There were dark circles around his eyes and his hair needed cut. He was always so neat.

"Balthazar." Castiel rasped, and in the empty air it sounded like a prayer.

The man had begun to move forwards, one hand tucked into his jacket to reach for the knife Castiel knew lived there. But he'd stopped, his face paling and the coldness in his empty eyes filling with surprise, confusion, fear. And then suspicion, dark and scary. Castiel watched him, unable to find the energy to move, even to stand. His body was weak with relief, with the knowledge that _finally, finally he'd found them_.

"I looked- everywhere." he wheezed, his heart and his lungs losing control, skipping and stuttering because _he'd found them_. "I- tried them _all_. I- Balthazar. I almost lost hope."

He closed his eyes as more tears fell, spilling hotly over his cheeks. But now they were salted with relief, with joy. With the fact that it was finally _over._ His search was done. He'd found them and everything would be okay now. As okay as their lives had ever been, anyway.

"You-"

" _I found you._ " Castiel whispered, before his vision began to swim and he felt himself swaying.

He didn't even have time to tell him that he thought he might be passing out. Castiel's world was black before he hit those worn floorboards, his brain powering down for the first proper time since… Since _before_.

At least this time, the darkness was empty.


	2. Chapter 2

When Castiel began to awaken, his head hurt and his mouth was dry. There was a cold, chilled feeling on one shoulder. He shrugged uncomfortably, drawing in a large breath that turned into a yawn. His face felt heavy, like it would take a lot of effort to open his eyes. He took stock of himself in a way he used to do before his… trip.

It was a habit he fell back into quickly once he'd escaped that grave, the slow awakening of his body giving him time to ready himself for being awake again. He started at the top, moving his neck, feeling his heartbeat. His shoulders were sore, tired muscle and one was cold. His ribs were sore down one side, the dying throb of old bruises. His hips, his legs, tired. His ankles, a pale discomfort. His elbows, his arms-

One stung brightly all of a sudden, as though a sleeping wound had woken. Castiel groaned, trying to shrink away from the fresh pain, but it _did_ give his sleepiness a jump, and Castiel opened his eyes.

It was dark. Or at least it felt like it was dark. The room he was in was dark, a dull, low light source somewhere behind his head. The window he was facing blackened and covered by thick material just to be sure. The floor underneath was dusty, what little shapes Castiel could make out in the dullness looked like old boxes, old bottles.

He was lying on a bed, and when he turned his cheek further into the pillow it didn't smell like the dust he expected. Instead the scent brought a lump to his throat, causing Castiel to force his abused body into a foetal curl, his breaths short as his sinuses became heavy, his eyes wet. Faint, familiar. The crappy shampoo they'd always teased him about using.

The one he somehow managed to find no matter what state they were in, what case they were on.

Castiel's brain was foggy, but that was a clear thought, a sweet memory. The hours before his current state began to creep back. When he brought his hands to his shoulders Castiel discovered why one shoulder was cold.

The material under his fingertips was damp, and when he jerked his hand back to check for blood he almost toppled from the old mattress. Nothing on his fingers, scentless under his nose.

_Water?_

And just like that, he was wide awake. He uncurled, ignoring the protesting of his sleepy limbs to survey the rest of the room, to see the small lamplight balanced on a stool by the bed. His shoulder was wet, a damp stain on his shirt that held no smell. The stinging on his arm, covered by a clean, fresh bandage. The blanket tucked over his frame. The familiar old room.

He'd found them. He'd found their current place, found that moving, travelling feeling. _Home_. It didn't matter where he was physically, so long as they were close by. Castiel could cry.

He'd found them, and he'd been tested. Holy water on his shirt, silver knife against his skin. The smell of fresh shampoo on his pillow. He'd managed it. The whole country to search, the list of recent and old safe houses, the abandoned ones, the compromised. He'd checked them all. And he'd found them.

The temptation to lie back down was strong. To pull up the blanket and catch himself the sleep he'd been unable to achieve these past two months and his time away.

But the want to see them, to really _know_ he was safe, was far more powerful.

Castiel folded the blanket back neatly, taking his time to adjust himself to movement once more. The floor was cold beneath his feet but he still had his socks on. There was a pile of material on a chair by the door. Castiel found a shirt, buttons worn down by fingers that weren't his own. He pulled it over the t-shirt he was wearing, tucked it into his jeans.

He lifted a bulkier item, older than the shirt by far and yet so much more pleasing to Castiel. An old jumper, wool that had seen battles more than he could count and worn in all the places it had rubbed against the person who had worn it. Castiel felt his throat clench, wondering why he felt so fragile over nothing more than an old sweater. He pulled it over his head, surrounded instantly by a familiar, soothing smell.

Balthazar had worn it recently, his favoured deodorant and his sweat clinging deep within each fibre, his cologne lacing the collar. For a moment Castiel could do nothing but stand there in the doorway with his fingertips peeking from the long sleeves and clenched in the collar, his eyes the only part of his face visible to anyone who may be looking.

It took him several long moments to get himself back under some semblance of control.

When he finally felt like he could move without falling apart, Castiel took one final deep breath, adjusted the jumper and strode from the bedroom. The landing was dark, open doorways darker still as he forced his feet to move, as excitement battled an unexpected and anxious fear in his gut. At the top of the stairs, a faint light became visible, peeking underneath the door beyond which Castiel knew the kitchen lay.

The door was closed, but he knew it was where he was to go. Steeling himself, he crept down the stairs, reaching the bottom before he thought to question why he was creeping. They knew he was here. They had tested him and found him clean, or he wouldn't be free to move around when he woke. He wouldn't have been left on his own if they had doubts.

Somehow that set Castiel's mind at rest more than his own knowledge of being fine. If they had deemed him safe, he was safe.

When he reached the for he paused, looking down at the light, much warmer than that of the lamplight upstairs, as it soaked into his socks. There was a soft sound drifting through the small gap where the door had been left ajar, sounding like low voices. Or the TV. Castiel needed a deep breath to brace himself and push open the door, but he managed it.

The TV was on, the first thing Castiel saw when the door swung open. The sink had dishes in it, the countertop a paper bag of groceries and the dying smell of coffee in the air. Whiskey too, it smelt like. The light from the TV danced over everything, the sound low enough to make the room feel less empty but not high enough to really concentrate on. Castiel smiled, feeling the tug in his chest.

Balthazar's habit, one that Castiel didn't know he'd missed until right at that very moment. There were stools and chairs where they shouldn't be, one with warped legs tucked under the doorknob to the basement, looking like it had been there forever. From where he stood, Castiel could see the profile of the man on the small sofa, the way his hair swept at the sides and stuck out at the back as though they'd seen their fair share of fingers recently.

Balthazar sat slouched in the far side, his elbow resting on the sofa arm and his cheek atop his knuckles. He was still, and for a moment Castiel's heart stopped beating.

Alistair had come back, and he'd taken him from Castiel, he hadn't escaped them at all for all he thought he had, and they'd found them, he'd led them right-

Balthazar drew in a shallow breath and Castiel's stomach flooded with relief, his skin flushing as he realised he'd let his imagination slip out of control. Balthazar was safe, just as Castiel should know he was. He couldn't do it any more, couldn't wait.

He took a handful of trembling steps into the room, his mouth dry and his tongue feeling thick like he'd had anaesthesia. It prevented his words from leaving his mouth. He swallowed, tried again.

"Balthazar."

It was pitiful, barely even a whisper.

But he heard, of course he heard, and he was on his feet in heartbeats, facing Castiel across the feet that separated them. Castiel had more to say, had words and greetings and heart-felt knowledge to pass on but in that moment he stalled, staring at a face he'd thought he'd never see again. Balthazar's eyes were glistening in the dull light.

"Castiel."

The spell was broken and Balthazar had bounded over, sweeping his little brother up in his arms so quickly that Castiel was lifted from the floor between breaths. Balthazar held him tightly, like he thought he'd disappear, and Castiel's hands clenched in his brother's shirt, fingers digging into his shoulders. Castiel held so tightly he couldn't breathe and began to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel was dozing in that place between sleep and the waking world when the grumble of the car filtered in from outside. He felt Balthazar shift, moving carefully so as not to jostle him as he lifted Castiel's head from his chest and lay him down properly on the sofa. A hand ghosted over his forehead before he could hear Balthazar moving, the door opening. The car engine grew louder and then cut off. There was a faint slam of a door, the sound of the trunk. Moments after that he heard the front door, the creak of it as it swung open too.

There were voices, or one voice. Balthazar's mellow murmur, familiar, comforting. Despite not being able to hear the words, Castiel was falling back asleep when the muffled shout rang out.

" _What?_ And you've-" Startled, disbelieving.

"Sshhh, of course I bloody have." Quieter, mildly scolding.

"What about-"

"Tried it."

"Well-"

"I tried it all." Balthazar paused, a poignant, silent moment settle in the house.

"It's-" Cracking, a breaking voice. Unsure and frightened.

"Really." Balthazar, sure and calm.

"You're…" Broken, clutching.

"I'm sure." Patient, soothing.

"It's really… It's-"

"It's really him, Gabe. It's really him."

"Where?" A pitching, hopeful croak.

The door pushed open quietly. Castiel yawned, trying to open his eyes. The footsteps were slow, light and anxious as though he couldn't decide whether to run or stand still. Castiel fought the tired ache and pushed into a sitting position, turning to look. Balthazar was there, coming over to him, an arm curving around his shoulders. He tried to sit but Castiel wanted to stand, his face twisted the other way to look for-

 _There_.

An anxious gnawing he didn't know he'd been feeling melted away. Gabriel stood in the middle of the floor much where Castiel had stood hours earlier when he found Balthazar. His clothes were wrinkled and he smelt like mud and smoke, the undertone of lighter fluid that meant he'd burned bones. There was a streak of soot across one cheekbone and his hair needed brushed. Needed washed. He had on one of their father's old jackets, the dark leather worn and soft. His eyes were ringed with sleepless nights and his bottom lip was split, scarring shiny in the TV's reflecting light.

His eyes were haunted, but in that moment Castiel thought he looked young and frightened. Too young for their life.

"Gabe." he greeted, feeling his eyes welling up again.

His brother seemed to deflate as the word hit him, his shoulders slumping and a ragged breath tearing from his throat. Castiel couldn't handle it, making his brother feel that way, and yet he had to. He took an unsteady step, opening his arms. Gabriel dropped forwards and then he was there, his arms surrounding Castiel as Castiel's surrounded him. The smell of old dirt and smoke was heavy, choking, but right then it was the best smell in the world.

"Cassie." Gabriel choked out, tightening his grip on his brother. "It's you."

"It's me."

Balthazar was there, beside them, winding his arms around them both. Castiel was struck by it, by how little they had done this, stood like this, shown who they were, like _this_. He promised himself he'd do it more, now. With his second chance he'd make sure they knew, however much Gabriel might tease, however much Balthazar might roll his eyes and scold. Castiel had been a hugger when he was little, something their way of life had worn out of him.

Well, Castiel would just have to wear it back in.

"How?" Gabriel asked, his face damp when he drew back, "How are you here?"

"I don't know."

"What d'you mean you don't _know_ , man where did you come from?"

Castiel swallowed, feeling confused and tired now that he had them both back, both safe before his eyes. Balthazar's hand was heavy on his shoulder though, grounding and safe.

"I… I woke up. And I was- I was _buried_. In a field, the middle of nowhere. Why didn't you burn me?" Castiel felt suddenly weaker, angry. "Why didn't you _make sure_?"

He looked between his brothers. Balthazar looked guilty. Gabriel met his accusing gaze with his eyes set. He folded his arms. After a moment of terse staring, Castiel sighed and gave in. He would never win with Gabriel, that much he had learned at a very early age.

"You're idiots." he said instead, moving towards the worktops, needing to do something to rid his hands of the twisty, nervous energy filling him at the thought of his brothers-

What if he'd come back as a ghost? What if he'd hurt them? Because they wouldn't salt him like they'd always agreed they would?

Castiel let out a long breath and emptied the water from the kettle, filling it from the tap and flicking the switch. He busied himself looking through cupboards for mugs, sugar, coffee or tea. He knew where they'd be, where they always were when Balthazar stocked a kitchen. He checked all the cupboards anyway, taking a mental stock, performing a ritual they all had drilled into them from a life on the hunt.

Always know your area.

"What… What was it like?" Gabriel asked, ignoring the warning look from Balthazar and looking at Castiel steadily when the younger Novak turned to look at him.

"Hell."

Gabriel didn't roll his eyes. He didn't snort or sigh or give Castiel that patented _big brother_ look, the one that said _I am so done with your crap, baby brother_. He didn't do any of the things Castiel expected him to. Instead he nodded, his narrowed eyes darkening with unreadable emotions.

"You remember it."

Castiel turned away, pulling the kettle from its cradle just before it boiled, needing to be busy _now_.

"But how did you get out?" Gabriel asked again, as though doing so would increase the chances of a satisfying answer.

"I don't _know_." Castiel said, sounding small and tired. "I told you everything. I just… woke up."

"In a _grave_." Balthazar put in slowly, his first contribution in a while.

The eldest Novak brother was perched in that quirky way he had, sitting on the arm of the sofa with his feet on the seat. But where he'd usually have an arm thrown across the back, he now sat alert and thoughtful, elbows resting on his knees and his fingers steepled under his chin. The sight, something so ordinary and every day, brought tears to Castiel's eyes. He blinked them back, hoping to avoid worrying his brothers further. They were already so worried for his state of mind, his sense of being now that he'd endured… What he had. With the amount of tears he'd shed he was starting to worry himself.

A year in Hell. The thought brought bile to his throat.

"Cassie?"

Gabriel was looking at him, bright hazel eyes weak with concern. Castiel hated to see Gabe like that, to see his defences brought so low by _him_. He swallowed, forced a smile.

"I'm okay, Gabe. Really."

"No, you're not." Balthazar said, softly. "But nobody's expecting you to be. A year, Castiel. Nobody would be okay after a year down there."

Castiel could feel the terror sharp and raw on his skin, feel his throat closing. He shook his head, shook it away.

"I'm okay."

"Cassie…" Gabriel looked like he might cry himself.

"I'm as okay as I can be." he pleaded, begging them to stop.

The room quietened, Castiel sipping from whatever he had put in the mug and not really tasting it. But the heat was good, it swam through his system in a comforting way, soothing the ache of his exhausted limbs and taking the sting from his bruises. His eyes caught the rumple in the sleeve of his jumper, where he knew the bandage was.

"Thanks, by the way." he said, meeting Balthazar's eye and gesturing his arm. "For checking me over."

Balthazar gave a dry smile, but there was a warmth in his eyes that Castiel remembered from _before_. Something he hadn't yet seen since falling through that front door.

"So how?" Gabe asked, a after a more comfortable silence, "What, or _who_ \- Man something must have done this? Something must have happened, or someone must have- We couldn't-"

Gabriel seemed to realise what he was saying, clamping his mouth shut hard enough that his teeth clicked. But Castiel had heard him, had seen the frustration, the truth in his brother's eyes. He felt cold all over. His fingers clenched around the mug in his hands, his fingernails clinking sharply.

"You didn't. Tell me-" He looked desperately to Balthazar, "You _didn't!_ "

"He didn't." Balthazar shook his head. "But he tried."

Castiel rounded on their middle brother, his cry equal parts fear and anguish, anger and reprimand.

" _Gabe_!"

"It wasn't just me. Zar tried too." Gabe tried to appease, moving towards his little brother with his hands out in defence.

"That's not the _point_ -"

"Like we wouldn't." Balthazar put in, even and calm as always.

"Like it or not, kiddo." Gabe tried to grin, swinging a casual arm around Castiel's shoulders. "You're our baby brother. If there was a way…"

"We were going to find it."

"But no-one would deal." Gabriel sounded disgusted, his eyes lighting with a familiar fire. "No-good damned _Demons_ refused to bargain."

Castiel felt sick. Demons would always deal, if they were getting anything out of it. There was no doubt in his mind what his brothers had offered.

"They wouldn't take you." he said, knowing it was true, his voice cracking.

Gabriel's arm tightened around his shoulder. Castiel hadn't shrugged him off yet like he always would. Instead, it felt… It was keeping the slice of Alistair's knife away when his brothers were near. After so long, could anyone blame him for wanting that relief? Even if wanting it made him look weak?

"Since when weren't they interested in my head? They've been out for my blood since… Well forever. More than yours. I mean, we all piss them off but I would have thought that if they wanted one of us, it'd be the one causing them the most trouble."

For some reason, by some miracle, the stark nature of the moment changed when Castiel looked at his brother's face. Gabriel was beyond pissed, furious that they wouldn't take him in exchange for Castiel, frustrated that there wasn't anything he could do. Castiel tried to smile. It was foreign and uncomfortable on his face but he did it.

"You sound jealous, Gabe. Can't handle that they wanted my ass instead of yours?"

It wasn't his sense of humour, but it _was_ Gabriel's. His older brother looked startled, before a weak chuckle escaped his throat.

"We got you back though." he said, a smile finally taking hold. He looked between his brothers. "God only knows how, but we've got him."

"Well, not God." came a voice from nowhere.

When the brothers spun, instinct meaning they had weapons in hand, they were witness to the sight of a man leaning against the counter where Castiel had so many moments before. He wore blue jeans and a black T-shirt, over which he had an old plaid shirt and a dark cargo jacket. He looked perfectly at home, even as his gaze swept the room as though appraising it.

"I mean he _knows_ , but Hell, I know too."

He looked over the brothers as he spoke. His eyes met Castiel's last, and a sunny grin blazed across his face.

"It was me, after all."


	4. Chapter 4

"How the hell did a _demon_ get in?" Gabe cried out, pulling back the slide and readying his gun. "How the _fuck_ did you get in?"

The man leaning against the counter frowned, looking far more offended than Castiel could ever remember seeing a demon look before they'd been stuck in a trap. It made him think of Ruby and his stomach turned.

"Woah, wait up." the stranger said, his grin gone and his hands unfolding to stretch out flat as though to stop their words himself. "I ain't no Demon."

Gabriel fired, the bullet striking the man right between where the two halves of his ribs met. His face flashed briefly in discomfort and he pushed off from the counter.

"Hey! I like this shirt." he said, looking down at the wound as he stepped absently to the side as though to get a better light.

While Gabriel was recoiling in shock that his bullet had done nothing - despite the Demon Trap carved into the casing - Balthazar flicked his hand out and one of his thin blades pinwheeled through the air and into the man's chest. Almost exactly where Gabriel's bullet had pierced.

"The fuck _are_ _you_?" Gabriel spat as the man didn't even stumble backwards as the blade struck.

Castiel wasn't sure why he wasn't moving, yet. He had his knife in his hand but he had yet to move, watching his brothers' attacks do nothing but offend the stranger. His fingers curled so tightly around the handle of Ruby's Demon Knife that his fingernails bit into the old handle. Gabriel's gun was gone from his hand, replaced by a large blade from somewhere on his person, a machete forged in silver and iron. He readied himself.

Castiel looked at the man, seeing the bizarre nature of his disposition, the fact that he was looking intently at the bullet wound, his fingers reaching into his own flesh. Castiel felt a familiar fear thrum through him. They didn't know what there were dealing with, the warding spells and Demon-proofing on the house had had no effect, the trap in the bullet wasn't stopping him from walking around.

They hadn't seen fangs yet, or smelt sulphur, or seen any Magic or burns. Castiel's brained was whirring, a familiar and almost soothing sensation after so long away from the hunt. The man pried the bullet from his chest and then, just like that, the wound was gone. There wasn't even a tear in the fabric of his shirt where he'd been shot. Even the blood on his fingers was gone. When he drew Balthazar's knife out, the same thing happened.

The man turned the blade over in his hand, an expression that looked like appreciation crossing his features.

"This is a nice knife." he told them, as though they hadn't just tried to kill him, "Good balance."

He looked up and smiled at Balthazar politely. Castiel felt Gabriel shifting his weight, a sure sign his brother was as stumped as he was. The man balanced the knife in one hand before placing it on the small table nearby. Then he turned to look at them again.

"If we're quite finished with the… uh… what do you- _pleasantries_ , I'd like to introduce myself."

"Get the fuck out." said Gabriel, and only Castiel's hand on his arm prevented him from swinging his blade.

Castiel studied the man, taking in everything and wondering what the strange sensation in his chest was, why a tickle of recognition was dancing like a snowflake in the back of his head.

"I… I know you." he said, hesitant and unsure whether he was telling the truth or not. His brows furrowed as he tried to grasp it, the sensation slipping between his fingers like air, like time. "Do I know you?"

The man met his eyes and gave him a smile, a different on from the one he'd given Balthazar, a different one from the flippant grin. Something… friendly. He gestured to himself a little, like a roll of his shoulders that ended with him glancing at his own feet.

"I'm Dean."

"Dean." Castiel repeated before he could stop himself, the name only fuelling the tickle in his mind.

"Cassie?"

Castiel held a hand out to calm his brother but he didn't look away from the almost familiar stranger before them. The man's smile widened, pleased.

"I'm the reason you're out."

"What are you?" asked Balthazar, his knife lowered but still gripped tightly. "If you're not a demon, what are you?"

Dean's eyes flickered at the mention of demon but his smile stayed. He looked to Castiel again as he answered.

"I'm an Angel." he said.

And he looked like he meant it.

"No way."

The smile became a grin, pleased and bright.

"Yupp. Angel of the Lord. Heaven, Halo, Wings. The whole… _shebang_. Is that the right word?"

Castiel snorted, something like amusement reaching his eyes. It was so bizarre, so strange. Dean looked at him, an eyebrow raised, and Castiel realised he was serious.

"Yes." he told him, "Yes, that's the right word."

"You're kidding me." Gabriel said, waving his weapon and looking at each of his brothers incredulously. "A freakin' _Angel_. No way! He's just some monster wanting to throw us off so he can get to us."

Castiel looked back at the stranger silently, taking him in from head to toe and worrying about how easily he was accepting the claim. Ten minutes ago he hadn't even been sure Angels existed. He'd been to Hell and wasn't even sure he believed in Heaven. But looking at this man, this _Dean_ , he wasn't sure any more.

"An Angel." repeated Balthazar steadily, his face focused and thoughtful as he too studied the stranger.

"An Angel of the _Lord_." Gabriel emphasised, a hysterical-sounding laugh escaping his throat. "Are you joking?"

"No." Dean said, frowning as though Gabriel had said something complicated. "At least, I don't think it's funny. It wasn't supposed to be."

Gabriel looked at him like he was mad. Castiel found himself wanting to smile. He didn't even know why, there was just something… Something about this man that made him feel like he needed sitting down and explaining to. What, he wasn't sure.


End file.
